Gabriel
by Fiddler55
Summary: Gabriel Di Angelo is a mysterious young man who appears when least expected and most needed. Written for Christmas, but possibly relevant year round.
1. Disheartened

Disclaimer: The characters of Mark Sloan, Steve Sloan, Amanda Bentley, Jesse Travis and Cheryl Banks, and the places herein, do not belong to me but to CBS, Viacom et al. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. All other individuals are once again the product of my own undisciplined imagination, and any dubious resemblance to any living person is totally spurious and unintentional.

7:00 a.m.

"Steve?"

Following the enticing smell of freshly-brewed coffee, Mark Sloan glanced around the empty kitchen in puzzlement, then spotted his son leaning on the deck railing outside. The tension in shoulders and back, obvious even through the window, meant that Steve probably had not been sleeping well, and apparently for more than just the past night. Mark poured some coffee and slipped outside.

"Son? Are you all right?"

"What? -- Oh. Hi, Dad." Steve straightened up and stretched, cracking his back. "Yeah, I'm fine." He didn't sound particularly convincing.

Mark got a good look at his son's eyes as Steve flopped into a chair. They were dull, shadows starting to dig trenches underneath them. With a touch of panic, he wondered how he could have missed the so-obvious signs of fatigue; then he remembered he hadn't seen much of his son lately. Steve had just finished up a particularly long and punishing case, and he had kept extremely irregular hours toward the end of it.

"Steve -- you look terrible."

The tired eyes blinked, then focused on him. "What?"

"I said, you look terrible," his father replied. "When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep?"

Steve debated briefly whether to deny it, deflect the question, but he had learned that it was impossible to distract his father once Mark got his teeth into a particular subject. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat back with his coffee, trying to will tense muscles to relax. "Just post-case resolution reaction, Dad. I was starting to wonder if we were ever going to be able to wrap it up."

"Why don't you take a couple of days off?" Mark asked. "You're done with it now, you've earned a break; you and Cheryl, go away, spend some time together."

Steve shook his head. "I need more than a couple of days, Dad. Besides, Cheryl left yesterday for a three-day seminar in Sacramento."

"Oh." Mark ruminated for a minute; then the first part of Steve's response caught his attention. "So take a real vacation when she gets back. You know, a week or two, like normal people do."

Steve grinned at his father affectionately. "You mean like the kind you haven't taken for the last several years?" They both laughed, then Steve's smile faded, and he focused on his coffee, unwilling to meet his father's eyes. Naturally, Mark noticed.

"Okay, son. Out with it."

Steve sighed. "Dad -- have you ever had times when you wonder if you're doing the right thing?" His father gave him a sharp look, and he amended his question reluctantly. "With your life, I mean."

Another sharp look. "Somehow I take it you're not talking about Cheryl."

"No." He took a deep breath. "I think I'm burning out, Dad."

Mark had anticipated hearing this for so long that he was startled at his own shocked reaction to it. "Why do you think that, son? Just because this last case was so wearing --"

Steve shook his head again. "It's not that, Dad." He tossed the last gulp of coffee down his throat and put the mug down with aching precision. "It's all of it. Kids taking guns to school, shooting their schoolmates; neighbors massacring the people next door because someone cut down the wrong tree; pissed-off drivers blowing each other away; parents abandoning their kids, families disintegrating -- nobody cares about anyone else anymore, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm doing anyone one damn bit of good trying to hold things together."

His father sat quietly for a moment, marshaling his thoughts. He was no stranger to his son's opinions, and occasional griping, about his job and the world in general, but Steve had never expressed his feelings quite so vehemently and categorically before. Mark had also never heard such a degree of weariness and discouragement in his voice; glancing over at his son, he noted the return of lines around nose and mouth which had disappeared some time back, and realized with dismay just how exhausted Steve was. Even more distressing was the realization that there was precious little he himself could do about it; but he had to try. "Son -- none of us can save the world singlehandedly. We can only try to influence our small corner of it. The point is that you do care about what you do. I think you'll be able to acknowledge that, once you've had a chance to get some rest."

"I don't know, Dad," Steve muttered. He lifted his head, and Mark could see the usually deep blue eyes had shifted to stormy grey, their usual brilliance flattened. "I'm not sure that I really do care anymore." He was about to say more when there was a faint beep, and he got reluctantly to his feet, fishing the cheeping pager out of his pants pocket. "Gotta go, Dad. Don't worry about me; I'll be okay." He made a desperate attempt to keep his voice light for his father's sake. "I'll even be home for dinner."

Mark managed a smile, but he wasn't fooled. "I'll hold you to that, Steve." And wished, watching his tall son leave, that he could do more.


	2. Strangers in Need

1:00 p.m.

Nothing like a chat with an informant who turned out to have depressingly little to say, Steve thought disgustedly as he made his way back down the deserted street towards his car. The meet had come dangerously close to being a total waste of his time, and what minute tidbits Smokey had to proffer of any remote value were essentially useless until Steve could collect more information to corroborate them. Gloomily, he pulled up his jacket collar and shoved his hands in his pockets; Los Angeles was experiencing an unusually chilly early December, and he was cold. Just one more thing wrong with the world, he thought grumpily, everything going to hell or worse --

In his distraction, he failed to notice the boy until a small body cannoned into his. "Whoa! What's your rush, kid?" Steve picked the boy up and looked him over, wondering cynically, but perhaps understandably, given his present state of mind, what crime scene was being abandoned so precipitously.

Huge brown eyes blinked up at him, suspiciously near tears. "Please, mister, it's my mom. She needs help."

"What kind of help?" Steve asked quickly, trying to calm the newcomer.

Small hands tugged at him as the child ignored both his question and his efforts at reassurance. "Come on, mister, you gotta help."

Before he knew it, he was accompanying the boy into one of the ramshackle, dilapidated buildings nearby. He was about to ask what the two were doing there when the answer became obvious. A young woman lay on a couple of threadbare blankets on the floor, a depressingly meager collection of possessions and makeshift furnishings nearby. He dropped to his knees next to the woman, who was moving restlessly, as if in pain, her eyes closed.

"Ma'am? My name's Steve Sloan. I'm a police officer. Can you tell me what happened?"

Dazed eyes blinked open in alarm. "Police?" She glanced hastily around her pitiful homestead, and he rushed to reassure her.

"I'm not here to roust you out, ma'am. Just tell me your name, and what happened, so I can get you proper assistance."

Another apprehensive look at him, but she must have seen something in his eyes which she could trust, because she relaxed slightly, the tension in her body easing visibly. "Mary Davidson. I'm not really sure what happened. I just got really dizzy -- and then I must have fallen down -- no, I started to pass out, and Nathan helped me lie down."

Hearing his name, the boy looked up and smiled, then went back to patting his mother's arm. Steve sat back on his heels. "He's a good kid. How old are you, Nathan?"

"I'm seven, Ofc'r Sloan. Are you going to help my mom?" he asked, with a child's disconcerting directness.

Steve smiled at him. "Call me Steve, okay? And yes, I'm going to help your mom." He turned his attention back to Mary. "My car's just up the street. I'm going to take you to Community General; my dad's chief of staff there, and he'll take good care of you."

"Hospital?" she protested feebly. "But what about our things?"

His heart twisted as he glanced around at them. So little, and so inadequate, to consider one's own, and important to boot. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I'll make sure they're taken care of." He rose and slowly helped her to do likewise. "Here, lean on me, unless you'd rather I carried you."

Mary shook her head quickly. "No, thank you, I can manage. You're doing more than enough as it is."

Something about the phrase pulled at his mind's ear, and he niggled over it as they moved along cautiously, Nathan scooting ahead. He had only just pinned it down, tracing the trickle of memory back to his conversation with his father that morning, when there was an ominous crack, and he felt the floorboard beneath his right foot starting to sag. Steve started to push Mary clear, planning to jump free himself once she was safe, but he was too late, and a large portion of flooring gave way, taking victim and rescuer with it.

The blurred numbers on his watch contended he hadn't been unconscious for more than a couple of minutes. Steve considered challenging his findings, then gave it up as a lost cause, and started to gaze around in order to get his bearings, wishing the fog in his head would clear. Apparently, they had crashed through only a portion of floor rather than all of the way down to the cellar, which he supposed was fortunate, although an ominous twinge in his midsection wanted to argue the point. Broken ribs for sure, he thought ruefully, unfortunately overly familiar with the sensation. He heard a moan next to him, and saw that Mary was lodged slightly above him and to his right, her left leg undeniably broken. "Hang on, Mary," he muttered, and reached for his cell phone just as Nathan yelled hysterically from above.

"Mom! Steve! Are you okay?"

It hurt to breathe, much less talk, but Steve called upwards anyway, anxious to calm the child. "Don't worry, Nathan, we will be. Your mom's leg's broken, but otherwise she's fine. I'm going to call 911, and then the paramedics will be here right away." Steve eased the phone out of his jacket, only to find that it had also suffered damage in the fall. He tried punching numbers anyway, but it refused to produce even a dial tone in response.

Steve craned his neck so that he could make eye contact with Nathan, and gave him a reassuring smile. "Nathan, I need you to go to the nearest phone and dial 911, then tell them where we are. Can you do that, buddy?"

The boy's eyes widened. "But you said --"

"I'm afraid his cell phone's broken, honey," his mother interrupted quietly. "Don't worry, we'll be all right. Just run down to the drugstore on the corner and tell them what's happened, and they'll call the hospital."

"But --"

Mary shook her head. "Hurry, sweetie. I love you." She blew him a kiss, and he returned it, bright-eyed. "Okay, Mom. I love you too." Then he was off and running.

Steve turned a surprisingly heavy head to apologize to the woman he was supposed to be rescuing. She had drifted off again, however, and was also blurring around the edges in a rather bewildering fashion. He was puzzling over this when he felt first one, then another, trickle of liquid slide down his forehead, and reached up to touch it; when he returned his fingers to his line of sight, they were stained with red. That explains it, he thought muzzily, and then the pain he had somehow suppressed forced its way upward with a vengeance, and he lost consciousness as well.


	3. Rescue

A voice was calling his name. "Steve? Steve Sloan, can you hear me?"

Without thinking, he nodded, and groaned as pain sliced through his head. "Yes," he whispered, discovering breathing wasn't especially pleasant either.

"My name's Gabriel Di Angelo. You can call me Gabe if you want. I'm an EMT. I'm here to help you."

The usual sounds of paramedic activity were absent. "Where's --" he started, stopping with a gasp as another lightning bolt went through his aching temples.

Amazingly, Gabriel understood. "They're on their way. I just happened to be near when the call came in."

His head hurt too badly to expend much effort in solving this puzzle; the proffered explanation would have to do. "Mr. Di Angelo --"

"Gabe," the other man said firmly. "Steve, listen to me. I need you to tell me how secure those floorboards feel, then I can determine the best way to get you two out of there."

Steve glanced around, then cautiously toed a couple of spots, which groaned discouragingly. "Gabe, I don't think three of us down here would be a very good idea right now."

"Okay. Can you reach Mrs. Davidson?"

A detached corner of his mind wondered vaguely how the EMT knew both their names, but he didn't have the mental energy to devote to this new riddle at the moment. Carefully, Steve stretched out one arm, then the other, ignoring protests from his ribs. "Yeah. I can make it."

"Good. Now reach towards me so I can see how far down you are." Steve complied, and the other man grunted with satisfaction. "Okay. I saw some wood over by a wall where I came in. I'm going to go get a couple of pieces for splinting Mrs. Davidson's leg." A trace of humor crept into his tone. "Don't go anywhere."

From anyone else, he would have found it annoying, but there was something so relaxed, so confident, so reassuring about this guy; Steve grinned and responded feebly, "We'll try not to wander off." Footsteps moved away above his head, and he concentrated on listening for their return, which they did a short time later, accompanied by a child's voice.

"Okay," Gabriel said. "I've got some slats, and have acquired the services of young Master Davidson."

"What's ack -- acckywyer mean?" Nathan wanted to know.

The EMT laughed. "It means I have you, in this case, to help me. First, we're going to hand these pieces of wood down to Lt. Sloan."

Huh? Maybe the kid had given their names during the 911 call, but he knew for a fact he hadn't mentioned his rank, to Nathan, Mary or Gabriel. This was getting weirder and weirder. He opened his mouth, forgetting his earlier reluctance to pursue the mystery, when he was interrupted by first one, then two pieces of wood swimming down from above. He managed to snag them without upsetting his ribs too violently, and glanced across at Mary, whose eyes he saw were open and aware.

"I'll hold those for you, Steve."

Gabriel's voice drifted downwards. "You're awake. Good. Mrs. Davidson, my name's Gabriel Di Angelo. We're going to splint your leg, and the other paramedics should be here momentarily so we can get you out of there. Are you doing okay otherwise?"

Mary nodded. "I'll be all right. Nathan, please help Mr. Di Angelo with whatever he needs, okay?"

"I will, Mom," the boy promised fervently, almost quivering in his excitement.

"All right," Gabriel continued. "Steve, strapping's coming your way. Mary, if you'll hold those pieces in place, Steve can secure them."

Webbing straps came drifting downward towards his outstretched hands, as Steve wondered briefly whether Di Angelo just carried the stuff around with him. Another puzzle to shelve temporarily, he thought, and concentrated on wrapping them around the slats. He had just finished and leaned back, temporarily exhausted, feeling the pounding in his head add an unsettling rhythm track to the shrieking chorus of pain in his ribs, when he heard new voices; the other paramedics had arrived. Steve watched blurrily as the newcomers assisted Gabriel in extricating Mary from her perch, then endured additional but welcome discomfort as he received similar treatment. Freed from the floor, he found himself on a stretcher in short order, one technician applying a temporary bandage to the gash on his head while another checked vitals and started an IV. From what he could see, two other paramedics were working on Mary while her son hovered anxiously.

A face floated into his line of vision. It was not young, but it seemed strangely untouched by life, none of the customary bits and pieces of facial road map which come with age to be seen. The features were sternly beautiful, almost androgynous, a definitive masculinity nevertheless making itself known in the chiseled line of nose, jaw and brow. Dark reddish-brown, almost black curls tumbled over the forehead, ears and the nape of the neck. And there was something about the eyes -- bemused, Steve stared at the apparition, the painkillers seeping into his system already affecting the fog in his brain. Then Gabriel spoke, and the odd feeling of otherwhereness eased slightly.

"They're getting ready to transport you two, Steve. I'd like to follow along and see you settled if you don't mind."

No, he didn't mind at all. That niggling part of his brain reminded him that he wanted to ask his mysterious rescuer a few questions once he felt a bit more lucid. "Gabe -- thanks." Steve sneaked a shallow breath to say more, but the influence of the drugs had increased, and it came out in an indistinct mumble.

Surprisingly, Gabriel was one step ahead of him again. "Don't sweat it, Steve. I'll see you later." Then the cool darkness closed in, and Steve sank into it gratefully.


	4. Plot Thickening

Approximately 2:00 p.m.

Mark was in his office, poring over some new budget submissions and hating every minute of it, when his phone rang. He reached for the handset, narrowly missing a semi-warm cup of coffee. "Mark Sloan."

It was Jesse. "Mark, I think you'd better get down to the ER."

Mark's radar went into ultrasensitive mode. "Steve?"

"Yes. Don't panic. He's going to be okay, but I thought you might want to see him before I start doing things to him."

Mark rose, shoving the papers into a pile. "I'll be right down."

Jesse was leaning over the gurney where Steve lay, IVs already in place, checking the injured man's eyes and gently probing the head wound. He turned his head briefly as Mark came in. "Looks like the damage was limited to a gash over his forehead, not very deep, cuts and scrapes, three broken ribs and a mild concussion. I'm going to send him for some x-rays to be on the safe side."

Steve's eyelids fluttered at the familiar touch. "Jess? -- Dad?" he muttered, trudging upward through the mists surrounding him.

"Take it easy, son," Mark soothed, feeling an unwelcome sense of deja vu as he said it. How often had he stood over his son inside these walls, and how many times still awaited them? He shook off the feeling of unease, composing himself. After all, Steve had been lucky -- again.

Picking up on Mark's distress, Jesse flicked a glance at his mentor and waded in. "You're going to be fine, buddy. I just want a closer look at those ribs, and then we'll get you fixed up. In the meantime, you're going to take a nice little nap."

"Wait." A hand reached up and caught at him weakly. "The woman -- Mary -- is she --?"

Jesse caught the wavering arm and placed it back down on the gurney. "She's going to be okay. I've got her in x-ray right now."

"She -- there was something wrong --"

Something in his son's tone snagged his attention. Mark caught Jesse's eye and gave him an infinitesimal shake of the head as the younger doctor started to insert a syringe into the IV. "What do you mean, Steve?"

Steve struggled to keep a strained grip on lucidity. "She -- she was sick when I got there." A pause while he concentrated, then he added, "She said she was dizzy. I was -- bringing her out when --"

Mark nodded at Jesse. "We'll take care of it, son. In the meantime, you need to rest."

"But --"

Jesse pressed the plunger, and the liquid started to flow into the IV. "But nothing, buddy. Tell your ribs to smile for the camera and say night-night."

Father and best friend watched as the injured man's breathing slowed and deepened, their thoughts unusually similar. Finally, Jesse took a deep breath. "Mrs. Davidson should be back from x-ray by now."

Mark nodded. "Think I'll come along and meet her. Do we know what happened?"

Jesse started to nod himself, then a puzzled look came over his face. "Well, no, not exactly. The paramedics said there was an EMT already there when they arrived, but I haven't seen him yet. All I know is Steve and the woman had fallen through rotting floorboards and were trapped. Her son apparently went to the nearest store and called 911."

"Son?" Mark asked curiously.

"Yes. Nathan, seven years old. Amanda swooped him up and took him off to get some juice and something to eat for the time being." Jesse stretched stiff neck muscles, and started for the door. "That sounds like them bringing his mother back now."

A few minutes later, they were examining the films in the viewing alcove next to Mary Davidson's room. "Looks like a fairly clean break of the left tibia; the paramedics did a real good splinting job," Mark commented.

"Your son did that mostly," a new voice said. Both doctors looked up to see a youngish man, wearing an EMT's jacket, standing in the doorway. "Gabe Di Angelo. I heard the call go in, and went to give what help I could until the crew got there."

Mark shook the proffered hand and gave the newcomer a quizzical look. "Mark Sloan. You said Steve --?"

"He and Mrs. Davidson were stuck in a rather precarious spot, and he didn't think it was going to support all of our weights. So I worked the materials down to him, and he splinted her leg." Gabriel's strangely light eyes focused on Mark, who experienced an odd feeling of weightlessness before the other man spoke again. "I'd tell you you could be proud of your son, except I believe you already know that."

Startled, Mark nodded. "Yes, I do -- and I am." He had the odd sense that the EMT somehow was aware of his conversation with Steve that morning. "Even if sometimes he doubts his own abilities."

Jesse coughed, and Gabriel focused on him. "Actually, Dr. Travis, I stopped in to see Steve, but I wanted to know whether it was all right for me to visit Mary Davidson as well."

"I don't see why not," Jesse allowed, "once we get her leg set. She just came back from x-ray, so give me about a half hour if you don't mind."

Gabriel shook his head. "No, that's fine. As a matter of fact, I also need to track her son down; I promised him I'd be here."

"Not a problem," Mark replied. "I believe he's in the doctor's lounge with our pathologist, Amanda Bentley; she was plying him with food and drink the last I heard."

Gabriel laughed. "Usually a good way to keep a seven-year-old happy. Doctors, I'll catch up with you later."

Jesse and Mark exchanged a look as the other man left, then Jesse asked slowly, "Did you notice anything -- well, strange -- about him?"

Mark shook his head a little too quickly. "No -- at least I think I didn't."

Jesse gave the older man a sharp look, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Whatever it was, Mark obviously wasn't going to say, and he wasn't sure himself. After all, the fluorescent lighting in the hospital had been known to play tricks on the eyes before, and that undoubtedly accounted for the glow he thought he had seen around Gabriel's head. He took a breath, rubbed his eyes, and glanced over at Mark. "Ready to get Mary's story?"


	5. Lost and Found

3:00 p.m.

Leg set, painkillers and fluids floating through the IV, Mary Davidson smiled drowsily at the two doctors. The older one reminded her a little of her own father, and the younger had a remarkable bedside manner. She felt more at ease with them than she had with her former family doctor, whom she had known her entire life. "Dr. Sloan, is your son all right?"

Mark nodded and patted her hand. "He's a bit banged up and sore, but he'll be fine, thank you. And yours is happily enjoying the company of Dr. Bentley, who has a son of her own about the same age."

"Mary," Jesse spoke up, "I hope you understand, but I have to ask this. Why were you living in that building? The neighborhood's basically condemned."

She looked away for a moment, then faced them squarely. "We just came to Los Angeles a week ago. My husband worked for the furniture-making company which was pretty much the only industry in the small town we lived in. Business had been shrinking, and it declared bankruptcy last month." She paused and swallowed, the words obviously reluctant to emerge. "One of the original benefits had been stock options, and a large percentage of its retirement package was stock. When the company went under, so did Joseph's pension, retirement, and existing shares. They were worthless. And the job market in the town turned upside down with so many people out of work. We lost our house, our savings, most of our things. So we decided to come here; but we couldn't afford to stay anywhere. We were driving around, and ended up on that street. It was late, and we had to sleep, so Joseph went into one of the buildings and decided that we could probably stay there until he found work."

Mark voiced the thought which was in both doctors' minds. "Where is your husband, Mrs. Davidson?"

Amazingly, she had managed to tell her story dry-eyed; now tears started to well up in her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered. "He left the day before yesterday to look for work, like he did the previous day, but he didn't come back." A thought struck her, and she struggled to sit up, panic on her face. "What if he returns while we're here? He won't know where we are!"

"Relax," Jesse soothed. "We'll make sure that someone keeps an eye on the place for you."

"Already done." Gabriel stood in the doorway; Jesse blinked, looking for the strange light he thought he had seen earlier, but none was forthcoming. "Steve told me that you were concerned about your things, and your husband, so I radioed in to have someone keep an eye on the place." He walked over to the bed and took her hand. "How are you feeling?"

Mary grimaced. "I'm not sure yet." She looked over at Jesse. "Dr. Travis, did my test results come back? I'm more worried about what was making me dizzy."

He shook his head. "Not yet, but it shouldn't be long. In the meantime, you should probably get some rest."

"True," Gabriel agreed. "You may as well get in the habit of conserving your energy now."

"Now?" Mark asked, with a peculiar emphasis on the word.

Gabriel's eyes traveled from one perplexed face to another. "Oh." His attention fastened on the startled Mary. "You didn't know either."

"Know what?" she breathed, fascinated.

Gabriel gave an odd little half shrug, and smiled, the light eyes even clearer. "You're going to have a baby."

All three listeners started to talk at once, then Mark fought free. "How do you know?" he demanded.

Gabriel's explanation was cut short almost immediately by a beeping noise. He reached for his pager and glanced at it, then grimaced, if such a word could be applied to the perfect mouth. "You'll have to excuse me for a minute, please; I need to return this call. Dr. Sloan, is there an office phone I can use?"

Temporarily distracted, Mark nodded. "My office -- go down the hall, turn right, you can't miss it. Look for the toy airplane."

"Fine, thanks. I'll talk to you all later. Mary, be good and do what these nice doctors tell you." And he was gone, leaving two baffled physicians and an equally puzzled patient.

"Very interesting young man," Mark said reflectively. "Ever see him before today, Jess?"

Jesse shook his head. "No, never. He must have a different run ordinarily." He stared off in the direction Gabriel had taken, then turned to his patient. "I can have the bloodwork checked, and do an additional exam, but if you're pregnant, you're not very far along at all, Mary."

She looked pensive. "No -- can you do the blood test, though, Dr. Travis?"

He shrugged. "Sure. I don't even need an additional sample, we can get it from the existing profile." He stepped over to the phone and spoke for a couple of minutes, then returned to his waiting patient. "They'll add that to the analysis."

Mark broke in. "I don't mean to throw the proverbial wet blanket out here, but maybe we should see if we can locate Mr. Davidson." He fished out a small notepad. "Do you know where he was going, Mary?"

Her eyes clouded. "He said he had a prospect over in Hollywood, but I don't know where. It was the day before yesterday; he left fairly early."

"Mmm. What's your husband look like?"

She smiled. "Nice. Solid -- like a teddybear," she said dreamily, then stuttered to a halt. "I'm sorry -- I suppose it would be more helpful if I gave you a more practical description, wouldn't it?" Her face grew somber as she spoke, her eyes becoming suspiciously luminous.

"Just a little," Jesse deadpanned deliberately. "Steve gets a little cranky when we expect too many miracles from him."

"And whose fault is that?" Steve said behind him. Jesse jumped, and whirled around to find his best friend ensconced in a wheelchair, IV rolling along merrily behind. Steve smirked at him, and motioned towards the bed. "Go on, give her an example."

"Uh, no, I think I'll quit while I'm ahead," Jesse declared hastily, moving out of the way so Steve could roll up to the bed and greet its inhabitant.

"Lt. Sloan, I can't thank you enough for what you did," Mary said, beaming at him.

He looked startled. "I pulled you into a hole, is what I did," he pointed out, although his tone was relatively light.

"Only because you were trying to help me," she stated firmly. "I'm very grateful to you. Who knows how long Nathan might have had to search for help?"

Steve was starting to look uncomfortable, and his father decided to rescue him. "Mary was starting to give us a description of her husband," he remarked.

Naturally, Steve's attention was snagged. "Is he missing?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jesse chipped in. "Since the day before yesterday -- he went out jobhunting and hasn't come back."

Mark started to comment, and his son held up a hand. "Okay, okay. One at a time. Preferably Mary, who I think probably can give me the best description."

A surprising dimple peeking from her cheek, the woman in the bed grinned outright. "You three must spend a lot of time together."

Steve flushed. "Is it that obvious?" He pretended to swat a protesting Jesse. "Mary, this individual you know as Dr. Jesse Travis is also my business partner in a BBQ restaurant, and coincidentally my best friend. Just because I have to do as he says medically doesn't mean I necessarily have to take him seriously the rest of the time."

"Oh, like you do what I tell you then either without active encouragement from a sedative," Jesse retorted.

Mark threw up his hands. "You see how they are, Mary? Can't do anything with 'em."

She was laughing outright now, their objective accomplished. "Okay, gentlemen. You're a little obvious, but I appreciate the effort. Let's see. Joseph's about 5'10", 180 pounds. Light brown hair, mustache and beard. Not bushy, but not one of those silly barely around the edges beards. He keeps it very well groomed."

Steve had appropriated his father's pad and was making notes. "Age? Clothes?"

"He's thirty-one -- five years older than me. He was wearing chinos, a blue striped oxford shirt, blue tie, um, loafers I think. He had a navy blazer." She thought for a moment. "Oh -- he was wearing his glasses; he ran out of his disposable contacts a couple of weeks ago."

Jesse had an odd look on his face. "What color are his eyes?"

Startled, she replied, "Light green, almost grey-green. Did I forget that?"

"It's okay," he responded quickly. "Excuse me just a moment." He took off, trying not to run, while the others exchanged mutual looks of mystification. He was back in a couple of minutes, and went to whisper something in Mark's ear. Mark's eyebrows flew up, and he excused himself in his turn.

"What's going on?" Mary asked Steve anxiously.

He shrugged. "No idea. I have known them to act strangely on occasion, though, and usually they do get around to explaining." He made a deliberate attempt to change the subject. "So is Nathan interested in baseball yet?"

Mary laughed. "Nathan is interested in practically everything. On the whole, I'm glad, although there are days I wish he were just a tad less curious!" Her smile faded as she looked up to see both doctors returning. "What is it, Dr. Travis?" she asked nervously.

"I'd still like to know how he did it," Jesse muttered to Mark, then turned his attention to the woman on the bed. "Mary, we have some news for you. Your bloodwork came back positive."

A look of wonder came over her face. "He was right? I'm pregnant?" She read agreement in their eyes, and she wrapped her arms around herself with delight. "I am! Another baby! Oh, wait till Joseph --" She caught herself, and the tears started to well up once again.

Mark came over and took her hand. "Honey, there's more. I think we know where Joseph is."

Excitement and happiness started to wash over her again. "You do? Oh, where? Please, please tell me!"

Jesse caught Steve's eye for a moment and grinned at his partner. "Actually, Steve, I think he's that John Doe you'd been trying to track down, the one who was in the taxi accident --"

"What?" Steve and Mary exclaimed simultaneously, and it took a minute for them to decide who was going first. Finally, Jesse had the floor again.

"Mary, the paramedics brought in this fellow two evenings ago. He was riding in a taxi that got sideswiped. He's not critical by any means, and as a matter of fact the main concern right now is that he took a knock on the head and hasn't been very coherent for the time being, although he is getting a little better at expressing himself. We've been keeping him mainly for observation and treatment while Steve tried to find out who he is; he didn't have any ID on him when he came in." Jesse gave her the full benefit of bright smile and kind eyes. "I'm inclined to think he's your husband, based on the description you gave us. Do you feel up to coming along to find out?"

Her eyes were shining. "Oh, yes!" she breathed, and would have slipped out of the bed all by herself if Jesse had let her. He settled her in a wheelchair, then took his place behind it, and the small group proceeded out of the room. Once they reached the room where the anonymous patient slept, the question of his identity quickly became moot, as his delighted wife quickly rolled up to his bed and woke him with her tears. Within minutes they had been joined by their son, Mark having alerted Amanda, and the small family was reunited.

Steve and Jesse watched in companionable silence as the trio hugged and exclaimed over each other. Finally, Steve stirred. "Good work, Jess," he remarked.

His best friend raised an eyebrow. "I could say the same about you, Steve."

Mark came up behind them. "I hate to break up your little mutual admiration society, but I think I should point out that I'm not going to release you, Steve, until you've gotten a little rest. You are suffering from a concussion, after all."

"Dad --"

"No buts or ifs, son. Back to your room with you. If you're good, I'll check you out this evening. Otherwise, you're stuck here for at least a couple more days. Your choice."

Steve reviewed his father's alternatives, considered the potential menu, and eyed his father again, who had that immovable look. Much as he hated to admit it, Mark was right. He was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, and sleep really didn't sound like a bad idea. "Okay, Dad. But only if you promise I can go home tonight."


	6. Soul Searching

7:00 p.m.

"How are you feeling, Steve?"

He turned his head away from contemplating the wall, and the earlier events of the day, to see Gabriel standing in the doorway. "Gabe. Come on in."

The EMT accepted the invitation and slung one leg over a chair. "So how are you feeling?" he repeated.

Steve grinned ruefully. "Sore. Stiff. Wiser about walking around in old abandoned buildings."

The other man laughed, then sobered. "Not about the reason you went in there in the first place, I hope."

"No." But his eyes dulled briefly, and Gabriel picked up on it.

"Sorry, Steve. Did I intrude on a sensitive area?"

Steve's mouth twisted. "I -- I don't know, Gabe." He stared off across the room, then seemed to come to himself. "Why am I telling you this anyway?" He looked at the other man, who was sitting quietly, gazing back at him in a fashion which could only be described as serene. He fumbled for words, then remembered. "Gabe, how did you know my name? And my rank?"

Gabriel looked startled, then shrugged one shoulder. "I imagine Nathan told the man who called it in for him. Seems to me I heard it on the call."

Steve shook his head obstinately. "I never told Nathan, or his mother, that I'm a lieutenant, just that I was a police officer."

Gabriel shrugged again. "No idea. Maybe he just assumed." He caught the disbelief in Steve's face, and laughed. "Steve, I don't read minds."

"But --"

The other man rose, and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "My friend, listen to me. Detective or no, there are more important things in this world than how I knew your name."

Steve looked mutinous. "I don't like unsolved mysteries."

The strange eyes focused on him. "Steve, you have much more important concerns eating at you than anything to do with me."

"Such as?" Steve asked curiously, hoping to provoke a more informative response.

"Holding it together," Gabriel said calmly. "Doing your job, doing it well regardless of the degree of obvious success, secure in the total conviction that what you do is necessary and does make a difference."

This was too weird. He couldn't imagine that his father would have blithely discussed their conversation almost word for word with a near-total stranger, even if that stranger had helped save his life. "What do you mean?" he asked, disconcerted.

Gabriel smiled down at him. "Today you willingly undertook an action which, despite putting you in harm's way, preserved a woman's life and reunited a family. Maybe you haven't saved the whole world yet, but you certainly saved theirs."

Now he remembered that last image before losing consciousness earlier. Gabriel's eyes were oddly light and clear for a man with his coloring. Even stranger, eyes that translucent should have reflected images in the room around him, but Steve's scrutiny revealed only bottomless depths and made him feel dizzy. "Who are you?" he whispered, not totally sure he wanted to hear the answer.

For once, Gabriel didn't respond aloud. Instead, he pressed Steve's shoulder and smiled at him once more, then turned towards the door.

Steve struggled up on his elbows. "Gabe - wait." He thought at first that the other was going to keep walking; then Gabriel stopped and gave him an expectant look, saying nothing. With the perplexing feeling that he was asking a question to which he should already know the answer, Steve repeated it, a little more strongly. "Who are you? And why did you tell me --"

"Steve," Gabriel interrupted gently, "you do know the answers to your questions. Both of them. All of them. I just helped you look in the right direction." He smiled again, this time a bit sadly. "Goodbye, Steve. Fare well." As he turned back towards the door, the lights flickered. When a startled Steve rubbed his eyes and looked again, the doorway was empty.


	7. Questions, Some Answers

9:00 p.m.

Jesse was standing by the main nurse's station, talking to Amanda, when their favorite policeman appeared, his father pushing the wheelchair. "You're kidding me," Jesse chuckled. "He actually behaved long enough for you to clear him to go home?"

Steve made a face. "No meatloaf tonight. At least there's beer at home."

They all laughed, then Mark said softly, "You can stay another day or so if you want the down time, you know."

Steve gave his father an affectionate look. "Thanks, Dad, but I think I'm okay now. It took a couple of strangers to help me put things back into perspective, is all."

Mark started to say something, and stopped. He would never be able to prove it, but he had the strangest feeling that the mysterious EMT had had something to do with Steve regaining his equilibrium. He put his hand on Steve's shoulder and pressed it gently. "I'm glad, son."

Watching shrewdly, Jesse guessed that life had returned to normal in the Sloan world. "You know," he reported, "I just checked in on the Davidsons. Joseph is finally able to put sentences together properly, and I think he'll heal just fine. He may even be able to go back to work in a week or so."

"And," Amanda added, "I have a friend who's looking for a skilled cabinetmaker, so we've already set up an interview for next week for Joseph. I think there's a very good chance he'll have a job before Christmas."

"Good thing," Steve remarked. "After all, their family's going to get bigger pretty soon."

Mark looked thoughtful. "You know, we never did find out how Gabriel knew that."

Amanda coughed, and they all looked at her inquiringly. "Er -- nothing. Must have inhaled funny."

Jesse grinned at the other two men. "Amanda was rather taken by our visiting EMT."

"I was not!" she protested, laughing. "Although he was certainly a beautiful young man."

"Maybe we should ask him," Steve pointed out. "Isn't that Gabe standing over there by the elevators?"

Mark turned. "Gabe!" he called, starting to walk in that direction. Gabriel looked up, and waved, and turned back towards the elevator. As they watched, one minute he was standing in plain sight, and the next, he had vanished. As the elevator doors opened, Mark whirled to face the others. "Did you see what I saw?" he demanded.

Their expressions indicated they were equally startled. "Isn't that the craziest thing?" Jesse asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Amanda started to point out that very fact, when her attention was distracted. "That's strange," she said, half under her breath.

"What?" Jesse inquired.

She pulled the small calendar off of the desk. "Look what day it is today."

"December 8th," Mark said slowly. "I'll be --"

"What?" the incorrigible Jesse asked again.

"The Annunciation," Amanda explained. "I don't believe it."

Jesse was about to explode. "Would you all stop talking in one-liners and tell me what you're talking about?"

Mark glanced from the calendar to the hallway towards where Mary's room was and back towards the elevator. "It's the day an angel came to give a young woman, and the whole world, some news that would change them forever."

There was a sudden, oddly peaceful stillness, in a building which ordinarily contained so much hustle and bustle, sounds of beeping machinery and efficient personnel, as the four of them silently contemplated the events and revelations of the day. The lights flickered suddenly, and Amanda swore up and down later that she had felt something soft brush against her face, as had the others, although they were less willing to admit it; then the usual sounds of the hospital started up again, and they were back in the normal world, each left to wonder just what had happened -- just a little.


End file.
